The party at Tannyhill was in full swing—music pulsing, drinks flowing, bodies moving in a haze of reckless energy. You weren’t even sure why you came. Maybe because everyone else was here. Maybe because you knew he would be too.

And of course, Rafe Cameron was exactly where you expected him to be—posted up against the bar, lazy smirk in place, looking like the king of Figure Eight.

He saw you before you could even pretend you weren’t looking for him. His lips curled slightly as he pushed off the counter, weaving through the crowd like he had all the time in the world.

You turned, pretending to focus on your drink, but it didn’t matter—because suddenly, he was there, leaning in close, his voice smooth and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d show, Bunny.”

You sipped your drink, unfazed. “Didn’t think you’d care, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckled, the sound low, dark. “I don’t,” he said easily. But then he reached out, fingers brushing along the strap of your dress, fixing it like it had fallen out of place. It hadn’t.

You swallowed, pulse quickening. This was the problem.

You and Rafe? You weren’t supposed to mix. But every time you got too close, it was like a match striking gasoline—hot, dangerous, and completely uncontrollable.

“You know,” he murmured, tilting his head, “for someone who says they hate me, you sure like standing this close.”

You rolled your eyes. “And for someone who doesn’t care, you sure like touching me.”

His fingers ghosted over your waist, just for a second. “Must be bad chemistry.”

You bit your lip, your body betraying you by leaning in just a little. “Yeah?”

Rafe smirked, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah, princess. And the worst part?” He paused, eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t want to fix it.”

And neither did you.